


East, West, Home's Best

by xsnarksthespot



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsnarksthespot/pseuds/xsnarksthespot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of domestic Portamis ficlets from a random AU where the boys are part of a struggling private detective agency that takes on jobs that really should go to the cops. Or bored neighbours. There's usually no in-between.  Somehow, these two still find time to act so-very-married, no matter where they are.</p><p>
  <i>"What you doin' back there?" Porthos twisted up off the pillow, his sleepy growl full of affectionate suspicion.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Aramis was kneeling between his legs. Or more specifically, looming over the leg encased in a full cast, a thin felt-tip pen in his hand.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	East, West, Home's Best

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some fluffy, modern Portamis drabbles, but this all kind of got away from me.

**I.**

"What you doin' back there?" Porthos twisted up off the pillow, his sleepy growl full of affectionate suspicion. 

Aramis was kneeling between his legs. Or more specifically, looming over the leg encased in a full cast, a thin felt-tip pen in his hand. He responded to Porthos' inquiry by reaching over his back and urging him back down into the mattress. Porthos' ribs had healed, for the most part, but there was a nice new scar still healing just above the waist of his boxer-briefs. Aramis was careful to avoid it, and gentle with his touch, besides.

"Don't move, you'll ruin it," Aramis chided, dark eyebrows notched into cheeky territory.

"Ruin _what_?" 

"My dear Porthos, you are a _detective_ ," Aramis sighed, returning to his scribbling at the top of Porthos' thigh. "Please tell me that I don't have to explain what I'm doing with a sharpie and your leg in a cast."

"Cheeky little shit," Porthos grinned crookedly, his laugh muffled by the edge of his pillow. "Why are you writing where I can't bloody _read a damn word_ is the question."

Aramis' answer was a casual drawl, lazy and full of warmth. "Because it is a _private_ message, of course. I can't have just anyone reading it. Besides, I'm sure you'll figure something out." 

That made Porthos grumble, but he lapsed into quietly hitched breathing as Aramis carried his work into Porthos' inner thigh. When Aramis finally sat up, he stretched over Porthos' back and kissed his shoulder, then the back of his neck, nuzzling into his curls until Porthos rumbled an enthusiastic noise.

Aramis laughed, climbing off the bed with a lingering squeeze at the back of Porthos' neck. "None of that. I have to go to work."

His immediate response was an exaggerated whimper, a childish pout and sad brown eyes staring up at him. Aramis shook his head and tutted as he began to dress. "Terrible. I'll be back at lunchtime. And you'll be back in the office next week."

"Doin' _paperwork_ ," Porthos grunted. 

Aramis' glance was sympathetic, but a little amused, too. He tugged his dress shirt on and left it gaping open over his undershirt as he sat down on the bed to pull on his shoes. "That's better than being stuck here alone all day, is it not?" If he got an answer, it was too quietly petulant to be heard over the sounds he was making getting dressed. 

Smirking, Aramis stood and leaned over Porthos to press a kiss to his temple. "Just a few weeks, love. Then you can give me a fright all over again. Though...I wouldn't recommend it. I intend to throttle you myself next time."

Porthos grabbed Aramis by the forearm as he went to leave. "Oi." He rolled over onto his back, not without some effort, but still fast enough to pull Aramis into his lap before he could escape. Aramis sighed dramatically. "Porthos..."

"You can't leave with a threat. Come on. Kiss me goodbye."

After staring down at Porthos with a speculative gleam in his eye, Aramis planted a loud smack of a kiss on his mouth - brief, unsatisfying, and purposefully obnoxious. Porthos laughed and rolled to the side, half-burying Aramis beneath the weight if his body. "Try again, brat."

Aramis smiled, slow and lopsided. Sliding a hand around Porthos' neck, he tugged him down for a real kiss, one that left them both panting against each other's mouths by the time Aramis pushed at Porthos' shoulders.

"Up. I've been late two days in a row. Treville will have my head for a third," Aramis insisted, reluctant but determined. The pout that accompanied Porthos rolling off him didn't help matters. "And stop with that face. You've got work to do, too."

"Hm? What you on about?"

Aramis tapped the cast meaningfully as he climbed out of bed and buttoned his shirt. "I expect a report on your success over lunch."

With that, Aramis grabbed his wallet and keys, gave a taunting little bow, and left. Porthos didn't move for awhile, just laid there with a sigh on his tongue and belligerent acceptance on his grumpy face. Eventually, he forced himself out of bed and thumped his way over to the full length mirror. It took ten minutes, an awkward bit of twisting, and standing like an idiot, before he finally deciphered the tiny row of words on the back of his cast.

_You are my home and my heart. Take better care of them, you brute._

Porthos’ heart did that annoying squeeze that Aramis was so good at inspiring, but he still smirked. Even in his sentimental moments, Aramis was a cheeky little shit. 

Porthos paused as he realised the message continued on his inner thigh, even smaller, and barely legible. Sorting that bit out took longer, and he nearly toppled over with a undignified grunt midway through, but it was worth it in the end.

_P.S. You also have the finest ass on this planet. Don't let it go to your head. --A_

With a great big bark of laugh, Porthos hobbled towards the room they used as an office. It was hours yet before lunch, and he knew he'd be thinking about Aramis non-stop now for sure, but he intended to distract himself by leaving post-its around the flat. In the back of their sock drawer. Behind the wall of hair products Aramis kept in the medicine cabinet. Inside the freezer. By the time he was done, there were enough that Aramis would be finding them for months. Porthos was particularly proud of the one between the toaster and the fridge, since Aramis never touched the bloody toaster himself. He'd find that one when they moved some day.

The notes ranged from crude ( _I’ve written ten of these things so far and the whole time I’ve been thinking about your dick in my mouth :)_ ) to childish ( _You are the world’s worst bed hog_ ) to downright sappy ( _There aren’t enough post-its in the world to tell you how much you are loved_ ), and his hand ached almost as much as his leg when he collapsed down onto the sofa. Propping his cast up on a throw pillow, Porthos sank back into the cushions and reached for the remote. He was fast asleep before the first commercial break.

 

**II.**

Stakeouts were easily the most agonizing torture Aramis had ever had to suffer through, and he was _Catholic_ , so that was saying a lot. His eyes flicked away from the apartment building they were watching and he wadded up another tiny piece of paper, slid it into the straw in his hand, and spit it across the car at Porthos. It joined the other dozen attempts, scattered across the man's chest and hair.

Porthos was snoring. He was turned mostly towards Aramis, his mouth open, head against the window. Aramis had been aiming for his gaping maw for the last half hour. He didn’t feel even a little bit bad about it either. He could have stabbed Porthos with the straw, after all. Really, it was a kindness. 

Still, he felt a little vindicated when try number fourteen hit Porthos in the back of the throat with force. His slumbering partner jerked awake with a hacking cough, frowned, and then made a face like he’d tasted something awful.

“...The fuck was that?” 

“You swallowed a fly,” Aramis deadpanned.

Porthos grimaced petulantly. “...Seriously?”

Aramis smiled unapologetically and turned back towards 307 Fifth St. Eventually, Porthos would wake up enough to realise he had little wads of paper all over him, but for now, Aramis enjoyed the smug satisfaction that came with making the love of his life think he’d eaten a bug. 

 

 **III.**

“Are you sure we shouldn’t--”

“I’m an army trained medic, I can handle this,” Aramis snapped.

“Not sure what the army ever taught you about babies gettin’ a cold, Aramis.”

“Shh. There are just so many _choices_. Give me a damn second.”

Porthos knew Aramis was tired, they both were, so he didn’t take the sharp tone personally. The little girl in his arms shifted and sobbed against his shoulder. She had d’Artagnan’s skin tone, but Constance’s blue-grey eyes and a shock of auburn hair that naturally looked a bit like a mohawk. Right then, it was matted down on her head with sweat and the thirteen month old couldn’t seem to decide if she wanted to burrow against Porthos’ neck or get as far as away from him as possible.

Aramis finally snagged a few choices and tossed them into his hand basket, before stepping close to Porthos and pushing Evelyn’s hair back from her forehead. His worried eyes met Porthos’ steady gaze and softened. “I’m sorry. I’m just--”

“I know. S’alright,” Porthos smiled grimly. Adjusting his grip on the toddler, he leaned in to give Aramis a gentle kiss. “Let’s just try and get her fever down first. And _then_ , we call Constance.”

Aramis sighed. “She’ll be on a plane before we even hang up. So much for their much needed holiday.”

 

**IV.**

The shelves full of cleaning supplies at Aramis’ back rattled with the force of Porthos shoving him into them, but Aramis only smiled wickedly and fisted both hands into his collar, yanking him to his mouth. 

As far as storage rooms went, it was fucking tiny. Porthos banged his arm on the shelf to his left trying to dig a hand into Aramis’ hair and Aramis swallowed his irritated growl with a laugh trembling on his tongue. Apparently, Porthos felt the vibrations of it, because he nipped at Aramis’ bottom lip and roughly buried a hand down the front of his jeans. A half-groan, half-gasp forced its way out of Aramis’ mouth and even he had to marvel at how fast he went from his permanent state of _casually interested in getting Porthos naked at any moment_ to _good God, rip my clothes off already_.

He rocked into Porthos’ hand with all the finesse of a teenager, Porthos’ forehead pressed against his. They exchanged desperate kisses until it was just a matter of resting their open mouths next to each other’s, every breath ragged and closer to the edge. 

Unfortunately, the moment Porthos tightened his grip and bucked against Aramis also happened to be the moment someone threw open the door. Porthos took a doorknob square in his right ass cheek.

“ _Oof_ ,” Porthos grunted.

The intruder paused in the doorway, clearly startled. Even though he couldn’t see him around Porthos and the door, Aramis was already half-convinced that stiff-shouldered shadow belonged to Athos, even before their forever cranky friend sighed as if the two of them were the heaviest cross to bear. 

Ever.

In the _whole of existence_.

“One of you idiots hand me a roll of paper towels.” Before either of them could consider exactly how to proceed, Athos’ too wise brain caught up with his mouth. “Wait...nevermind. Wash your hands before you come back to the conference room.”

And with that, the door clicked shut.

Silence filled the closet for a few seconds and then Porthos coughed out a wheezing laugh. “Shit.”

“He’ll have a locksmith out here by the end of the day, just you wait.”

 

**V.**

“Uhhhh….Titanic?”

Porthos made the approximate sound of a _wrong answer_ buzzer. He hit the annoying mark well, but not quite the tone.

“Okay seriously, stop making that noise every time I guess wrong,” d’Artagnan griped, slouching back against the elevator wall. Aramis gave him a sympathetic smile before smirking at Porthos.

“Too depressing,” Porthos countered, stretching his legs out in front of him as best as he could. The elevator had been having issues all year, but this was the first time they’d been stuck for over a half hour. All attempts to call maintenance had been met with annoyingly garbled responses.

“Yes, but it’s _sweeping romance, star-crossed lovers_ , yada yada yada.”

“Star-crossed isn’t far off the mark. He just prefers the ones that have a happy ending.”

“Ugh. Fine, I give up.”

“Weak,” Athos chimed in from his corner of the elevator, all while glaring at the no signal symbol on his phone.

“Hey, _hey_ , I don’t know Aramis as well as you two. And I’ve guessed like twenty movies at this point!” d’Artagnan huffed.

“Frankly, I’m waiting to hear if Porthos actually has the right answer or if he’s just being an arse because you’re letting him.” Aramis nudged Porthos with his shoulder, lifting his eyebrows in an impatient sort of way.

Porthos put on his best offended face. “Course I know the right answer.”

Aramis didn’t say anything, just notched his eyebrows a degree higher and stared him down.

Leaning closer to Aramis, with a completely unsubtle glance at his mouth, Porthos spoke with the kind of certainty that comes with being really, really smug. “ _Princess Bride_.”

Aramis tried to keep a straight face, would have even frowned if he could manage it, but a pleased smile slid into place before he could exercise any restraint. Porthos returned the smile with a puffed up chest full of pride.

“Don’t look so full of yourself. Even I knew that and I tune you both out most of the time,” Athos teased dryly.

Porthos laughed, kicking Athos in the leg as d’Artagnan seemed to think the answer over for a bit. Finally, he shrugged. “It’s a good movie.”

With his eyes going wide, Aramis put a hand over his heart. “Excuse you. It’s the _best_ movie.” He dropped his chin, eyeing d’Artagnan as if he’d said something that must forever change how Aramis treated him. “Pirates and mercenaries! Honourable quests, mind games, vengeful pacts!”

“Giant rats. Medieval torture. Necromancy,” Porthos offered with a straight face.

“ _Unwavering loyalty and true love_ ,” Aramis finished, glaring affectionately at Porthos.

d’Artagnan held his hands up defensively and smirked. “Right, right, _okay_. It’s the best movie.”

“I’m glad we got that settled.” Aramis flashed a satisfied smile. Hardly a beat passed before he swung his warm gaze to Porthos and said, “You realise that we're watching it tonight now, right?”

Porthos’ smile was all in his eyes, but he answered without batting an eyelash. “As you wish.”


End file.
